Crazy On You
by Rebellwithoutacause
Summary: "Looks like I'm not the only one with something to hide." The accent in her voice seemed to become more pronounced just a little as the volume of her speech dropped. "We all got something to hide," Dean said with a slight shrug. "The only difference is from who and how much." Dean/OC one-shot M for a reason.


**_Ok, so, I have taken the plunge into a new fandom. Supernatural. Woohoo! I just recently started watching the show, and I am entirely addicted. Like seriously, there ought to be a rehab so I can actually focus and go to work and school and concentrate with full attention and not have my mind wander onto those two delicious brothers. Mm, mm, mm. Anyway. I figured I'd also make it clear, I have ONLY made it up to the first episode of Season 4. I have a sort of gist of what happens through Season 9, but I've only actually watched 1-3 completely. This one-shot takes place between Seasons 1 and 2. I haven't figured out an actual time line because it doesn't follow the show. Hopefully nobody's got a problem with that. Ok, this author's note has gone on for long enough. Reviews are mana from heaven, so if you like, let me know! _**

**_Warnings: This is rated M for a reason peoples. Can't handle it? Blow right past. _**

**_Disclaimer: I obviously own Supernatural. Not. _**

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><p>Never let it be said that Dean Winchester was inexperienced with both shit-kicker bars in crappy little towns strung out along a side of highway, as well as the kind of girl those bars and those towns tended to attract. There was some sort of honkytonk song coming over the speakers, some mix of badly overdriven guitars and maybe even a harmonica with scratchy vocals from someone who wasn't even in the same zip code as being able to sing. It was no Metallica or Zeppelin but it suited him fine for right now. He had a decent glass of whiskey in his hands and he was feeling loose and easy. The last job had gone well, a nasty spirit who had a habit of decorating walls with the blood of the 'other woman' in a deceitful man's life, and to boot he'd made a solid three grand playing poker with some real hot shots who thought they could run a scam on a man like Dean. Sorry bastards didn't know that Dean Winchester was the best con artist there was. Probably was a skill he shouldn't have been proud of but hey, it bought all the junk food, gasoline, shots of eighty proof, and crappy motel rooms a guy and his brother could need for the next two or three months so he wasn't complaining.<p>

This bar was a lot like other bars he'd encountered throughout these little highway towns. Small, dimly lit with neon colors, smoke drifting through the air, sounds of cue balls striking over chalked tips, racks of other billiard balls colliding on a worn out table, a banjo picking in the background trying to pass off a pop rock song as country music, and sometimes a waitress or a bartender with a sweet ass in a tight denim skirt and a low cut tank-top pretty enough for Dean to blow off doing yet more research with Sam for at least a couple hours. As a hunter, he didn't have the opportunities other men had. He didn't have the chances to meet a nice, decent girl, think about settling down, getting a job where he paid taxes and didn't worry that something big and nasty was going to try to take his head off the hard way: a life where he could maybe even think about raising kids. He wasn't even entirely sure he'd ever actually wanted that sort of life anyway. Sure, the health benefits were infinitely better, but he had a feeling that even if he didn't know what was really going on out there, he'd lose his mind trying to do the nine to five. So he'd shoot his whiskey, show a not quite whore a good time for a couple hours, or maybe a night before showering with her expensive soap and hitting the road in the Impala, off to the next shit kicker town to clear out a vengeful spirit, poltergeist, demon, or whatever the hell else the supernatural world tried to throw at him and Sammy. It wasn't the life most people would have wanted, but it suited him.

He was thinking if he really wanted to get laid he might have to settle for the bartender who actually wasn't half bad looking and prepared to use one of many patented Dean Winchester pick up lines with the double whammy combo of mischievous grin when _she_ walked in. Five foot eight with badass combat boots almost up to her knees, peach colored skin seeming to defy the universally unflattering light of these shit-kicker bars, long mocha colored hair with waves like she'd been lounging in the surf of a white-sand beach all day long. It probably wasn't true, considering they were in northern Alabama and that would have been a damn long drive, but the thought of her sprawling on a beach in a string bikini, sunlight, salt water, and sand dusting over her skin, it put him in the mood right then and there. He let his eyes travel up her lovely long legs, sliding and savoring over her ass, which, if he could be a judge (and he reasoned he could, he spent as much time as he could allow for observing the female posterior), was probably the finest bit of ass this side of the Mississippi, held tight in her black jeans that rode low on her hips, held against her curves by a belt partly secured with chain that looked homemade. Even more so, that belt seemed to contain little bits of metal that looked suspiciously like attachments for holsters. Gun holsters. Knife holsters. A part of him licked his mental lips, having always had a fondness for the rough sort, but the other part of him, the hunter that his father had trained and spent years teaching his son how to hone his skills of the odd and suspicious, bristled. He couldn't quite come up with a reason why exactly, after all, it wasn't exactly safe for a woman to be walking around alone in the dark near a bar full of drunk men without protection. Yet she didn't appear to be armed, and if his calculations were correct, he'd guess that whatever those holsters were meant to carry was large enough to even beat out most police weapons in both size and number. Was she just paranoid level maximum or did she know what was really going on out there?

He didn't have too much more time to think about it because right then she hopped up onto the stool right next to his, fished a hair band off her wrist and tied her hair back into a messy bun, the shorter layers falling loose, framing her lovely high cheekbones and curve of her jaw. From what he could see in the reflection of his glass (c'mon, he wasn't stupid enough to actually stare when she was this close) she wore fairly dark makeup around her eyes, but the color of those irises smacked him hard. Ice blue and so potent he was sure he might have skipped a couple heartbeats. He tried not to linger with his eyes for too long, but how could he resist? She was wearing a red tank top that (unfortunately) covered most of her cleavage, but was buoyed by the black vest that accentuated her bust and defined her narrow, shapely waist. He noticed that she also wore black fingerless gloves and tied around her left wrist was a piece of red cloth. Her foot tapped restlessly against the frame of the bar stool as her short clipped nails drummed on the surface of the bar. It took maybe a minute and a half before she finally leaned over a ways, affording Dean a nice look at the small of her back and he noted the trailing end of a tattoo peaking out from underneath her vest as she called out "Damn, what does it take for a girl to get a drink around here?"

The bartender spun on her heel and glared at the newcomer and Dean almost half hoped that there would be a catfight, but professionalism was maintained.

"What'll ya have?"

"Double shot of Jameson, neat." A barely accented voice curled out and Dean shivered a little.

_Don't wait up Sammy _he thought to himself.

The blonde bartender poured the shot and before she could even twist her hips to take a step towards the next order the brunette downed it in one go, not even flinching at the burn and lifted the glass. The tender refilled it and set the bottle down nearby and Dean finally couldn't resist speaking up.

"Any woman that can drink like that deserves a free round," he purred, sitting up and flexing his shoulders. No less than thirteen women had told him that he had amazing shoulders. At the sound of his voice she whipped her head around and fixed him with a fearsome gaze that seemed to give off the vibe she might be about to rip him to shreds.

_Hmmm, wonder if she's a vampire actually about to eat me alive… can't be a bad way to die in this case. _

"Normally I would tell you to go screw yourself but after a day like today, I'll take a free drink," she said. She glanced at the glass between his fingers and sniffed a little. "Maker's Mark?" she asked, tilting her head slightly towards his cup.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

She smirked just a bit at him and his skin suddenly tingled in delightful ways. "Can tell by the smell."

"Seriously?"

She laughed, the sound somehow managing to remind him of many of his favorite guitar riffs, her white teeth flashing behind her lips. "When I leaned over the bar I saw she had the bottle pulled out and the guy next to me has a line of beer bottles about a mile long surrounding him, so I figured it was for you."

He nodded and lifted his cup towards her. "To the end of a helluva day."

She tossed her shot back and this time flinched just a little at the burn and set her cup down with an exhale and a grin that she shot his way.

"What's your name?" he asked casually.

"Natasha Callahan," she purred. "And yourself?"

"Dean, Dean Winchester."

"Well Dean, don't try to James Bond your way into my pants. It won't work."

"Oooh, sassy, I like that. Don't count me out just yet Natasha," he said with a sneaky grin that she returned.

"So what kind of day have you had that you'll do two doubles in less than ten minutes?"

"Ah believe me, you don't wanna know," she said with a slight shrug of her lean shoulders.

"Hey, if you can't tell strangers who can you tell?" He actually knew a thing or two about that from personal experience.

"Arm's length therapists, is this your way of hitting on me, Dr. Freud?"

He was momentarily stunned into silence but she saved him from further looking like an idiot. "Work was rough is all," she explained.

"What kind of work are you into?" These were the moments he was sort of jealous of Sammy and his puppy dog eyes that could get any story out of anybody.

"The kind you don't want to know about," she muttered, running her fingertips over the rim of her glass again and again.

"Aw, come on, I won't judge. Scout's honor." He offered up a more sincere smile but she gave a slight shake of her head.

"I hold my liquor better than most girls, Dean. Haven't had enough yet to get that sloppy." Even as she spoke her eyes seemed to smolder. "What do you do?"

"Ah, little of this, little of that," he said.

"Looks like I'm not the only one with something to hide." The accent in her voice seemed to become more pronounced just a little as the volume of her speech dropped.

"We all got something to hide," Dean said with a slight shrug. "The only difference is from who and how much."

She laughed at this, her lips twitching into a smile. "Ain't that the truth," she purred. She glanced him over again and he had the distinct feeling she was undressing him with his eyes and he couldn't resist.

"See something you like?"

She didn't flinch one bit, and if he could be any sort of judge (and again, he reasoned that he had the qualifications to do so), her eyes were practically burning with unchecked lust.

"I believe I do." Her mischievous expression flickered and cooled for a moment leaving him all but thrashing underneath her eyes. "But let a girl have her pride hm?"

He quirked a smile. "Anything the lady needs," he said. "Another?" he asked, nodding towards her glass.

"Are open containers illegal and is this the only bar within another hundred miles driving distance?"

He flagged down the bar tender whose previously warm smile and friendly tones towards him over the course of the evening cooled considerably now that he was talking to Natasha. "I'll have another, and put the lady's on my tab," he said, tilting his head towards her.

Their drinks were refilled and this time they sipped rather than slamming the alcohol back. "So you favor Irish whiskey rather than American?"

She nodded. "Aye, my dad was Irish."

"So that's the accent in your voice, I was wondering, don't hear many except a long Southern drawl this far below the Mason Dixon line."

She chuckled a little and shook her head a bit, nursing her drink. "Little bit of everything Eastern European with some Irish thrown in there from my dad."

He whistled. "European huh? What brings you here to this side of the pond?"

She flashed him a look, her voice dropping into that low, smoky growl again. "Work," she responded. "What about you, no Southern drawl anywhere near your voice, thank God for that, I can't think of a sound that could make a person sound less intelligent."

"So if you don't like the South what brings you this far down?"

He could tell she noticed the way he dodged her question about work. Her eyes seemed to sparkle and her mouth twitched at the corner just a bit but she brushed past it with ease. "My work moves around a lot and so I follow. Not a bad gig really, it suits me since I can't stand being tied down to one place." She took another sip of her whiskey and sighed quietly. "If I stay in one place too long I get restless."

A warm flush of understanding moved through him. "Yeah, me too. I never could sit tight anywhere for any length of time. My little brother though, he does better with that sort of thing."

"That why you're here? Visiting him?"

He shook his head. "Nah. My brother travels around with me, we work together. He just complains about it more." It was in poor taste to talk shit, he realized this, but enough alcohol could get his tongue wagging more than he necessarily would have otherwise.

Just then the music gods smiled on him and the song over the radio changed. He recognized the long, well plucked acoustic notes of 'Crazy on You' by Heart and while it was too soft for him to ever admit out loud to knowing, it made Natasha smile and she downed the rest of her drink.

"Wanna dance?" she asked, nodding towards the empty space that had been cleared where several other couples were already tied together.

Dean balked. He was not the dancing type, never had been, but Natasha didn't give him a chance to resist. Her hand flashed out quicker than a viper and curled around his wrist and pulled him off the stool and before he could make heads or tails of what was happening she was moving against him, letting her hands run against his shoulders, back, and chest, fixing him with a look that scorched him to the bone.

"Relax," she purred. "Don't think."

Her hands fell onto his hips as she began to sway and rock hers from side to side in an easy rhythm to that thrumming acoustic melody, her head rocking back and forth in time with the well picked notes, a spiked honey smile tracing its way over her mouth. He took his opportunity to at last feel her underneath his hands and if he'd ever wanted to resist her advances he knew he didn't have a bat's chance in hell now. She was firm, lean, toned, powerful muscles flexing underneath his palms like a big cat getting ready to pounce, and if he wasn't mistaken, he was the helpless antelope being sized up. She spun around and backed up against him, her one hand finding his and pulling it across her front, feeling over the smoothness of her belly before settling on her hip. Son of a bitch, he could feel _every _inch of where their bodies came into contact and it was enough to almost have his nervous system short out with sensory overload.

The song was over way to soon and she turned back to him, licking her lips and arching up on her toes, pressing against him firmly, her one hand wrapped into his short hair at the back of his head.

"Let's cut the crap and go back to my room, hm?"

"Lemme pay the tab," he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes a little as they wandered back towards the bar. "If the tender was a guy we could be walking out of here with our drinks for free. Well, mine anyway," she snickered a little and his eyes flashed.

"Ooh, should I be worried about waking up tomorrow with my wallet and keys missing?" He fished out a wad of cash (bless the green paper, spent anywhere, no questions asked) and tossed it onto the bar. "Keep the change," he said, nodding towards the bartender. The change made up for at leas a thirty five percent tip, but he figured it was a decent enough apology for blowing her off the second Natasha had walked through the door.

Natasha smirked at him with a devilish look. "Oh no, Dean. When I take, I take much more than that."

"Like what?"

"Oh maybe I'll eat your heart straight out of you." She chuckled almost evilly and for a split second he had a cold flash walk up and down his spine but he brushed it away. _Don't bring the job home, Dean. You know better. _

He followed her outside and was grateful for the cool night air, well, as cool as it ever got down South during the height of summer. The humidity was relentless and made him feel as though he were practically drowning out of water as he fished his keys out of his pocket.

"Follow me," she purred, marching directly towards a matte black Harley Davidson motorcycle, swinging her leg over the side, mounting the machine in such a way that despite the soaking wet humidity made his mouth go dry as ashen bones. She cranked the engine to life and the machine snarled like a living thing, the headlight flaring a bright beam of white.

"No helmet?" Dean questioned.

"Never needed one before, ain't gonna start now," she hummed. "Come on, night's wasting."

She peeled out of the parking lot and he raced to catch up, appreciating the rev of the Impala's engine as he tore out of the lot and followed her. They were headed the opposite direction of his and Sam's motel, following the highway towards the other entrance and exit out of town where he figured was probably the only other place to stay. Just at that moment his cell chirped, the device glowing and humming to get his attention.

"Hey Sam," he answered knowing it was his brother. Who else could it be?

"Hey, Dean, you coming back at some point tonight or what?"

He chuckled to himself as sure enough Natasha pulled off the main highway into the small section of town that had it's few mom and pop shops, diners, and one other motel, her bike pulling into the graveled parking lot of said motel and finally going quiet.

"Better not wait up, Sam," he said as he angled into the parking spot next to hers and killed the engine. She didn't wait for him, just swung off her bike and marched towards the motel, her hips swishing in those black jeans. He swallowed around his dry mouth and raced to catch up, killing the engine on the Impala and climbing out, just barely making sure she was locked up tight before following Natasha.

"Lemme guess, bar-tender wasn't some scuzzy old guy and you'll come back in the morning hung-over and craving all the grease in the next three counties?"

"Whatever ya say Sammy, lock your door, gotta go." He hung up the phone and stuffed it in his pocket and crossed the threshold of the motel just as Natasha was breezing her way past the front desk. The clerk was actually asleep at his post and so Dean just walked right on by as his lovely lady for the night unlocked her door and beckoned him in with a smirk that was positively sinful.

He followed her in and she shut the door on him and pinned him up against the door, not wasting a split second before kissing him, her lips spicy and sweet from the whiskey, the taste of her filling his mouth, the smell of her clouding his lungs and making his head swim. His hands slipped free of her grasp and one wound it's way towards the base of her skull, tipping her head up just a little more to open her more fully to his investigating tongue while the other clenched on her hip and hauled her forward, bringing their groins into contact and he swore sparks flew down his vertebrae.

God almighty she could kiss. Her tongue did things to him he'd never experienced before, not in traveling through damn near every state in the good ole' USA in the over dozen years he'd been on the road and kissing girls at the same time. He was all but gasping, struggling for air but never ever wanting her to stop what she was doing, his fingers that were brushing over the nape of her neck finally finding the clip that was holding up her hair and pulling it loose, letting her mane cascade down to past her shoulder blades. He wrapped his hand into the silky tresses and tugged gently and she groaned in response, finally letting his mouth go so she could tip her head back. He dove in for the make believe kill and let his lips press kisses and the softest of bites along the sweet column of her neck. She pressed herself even closer if that was humanly possible, her nails scratching against his shirt across his back.

"Tasha like, hm?" he purred, his voice dripping sex and lust. When she pulled her head back up and she caught his eyes she was practically humming with desire.

"You're wearing too many clothes." She fisted her fingers into his over shirt and yanked it over his head without ceremony and didn't wait one more second before doing the same to his undershirt as well, leaving him exposed to her eyes. She noted the pentagram tattoo over his chest and wrapped her hands around the nape of his neck, kissing him firmly again, this time letting her teeth sink into his lip just a little before dropping further down to bite gently at his tattoo before soothing the sting with her tongue. His knees were practically threatening to give out as she worked him over and now he reached for the button on her vest that held it closed, popping it easily and she rolled her shoulders to slide out of it. She let it hit the floor and he backed her up towards the king sized bed, reaching for the hem of her tank-top as he did so, hauling it up over her head and flinging it off to the side. He licked his lips with eager earnest before kissing her mouth again, this time the crook of her knees hitting the edge of the bed, putting a halt on his prowling as she refused to budge, kissing him just as strongly, her tongue hot and slick against his own. She sank her teeth in his lip when he tried to pull away to breathe, her fingers tightening into the hair on the back of his head before nicking into the nape of his neck, pulling him tightly to her, her belly brushing his, the lace of her dark blue bra scratching tantalizingly against the skin on his chest, sending a shockwave through him.

He slid his hands over her hips and up to her waist, squeezing the sharp hour-glass curve there, groaning at the feeling. Just as he had realized dancing with her, she really was as firm as he'd thought. He could feel every contour of her muscles and every time she moved he could feel the bunching, coiling power there. In his time, Dean had taken many girls of all kinds as his lovers, most for only a night, but he'd never felt anything like her before. Even Cassie didn't have this kind of feel to her. Natasha made him hungry for her in ways he didn't understand but oh God how he wanted to explore more. He wanted to know every inch, every single detail.

His hands moved up from her waist to grasp at the clasp of her bra and quickly slid it loose, easily making the maneuver. She at last pulled her lips away from his, but he had the sense it wasn't because she needed to breathe, so much as she wanted to be able to look at him and smirk as she slid her arms out of the straps and let her bra fall to the floor. It was at that moment though that the last little bit of rational thought kicked in and he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, digging out a condom to set aside on the nightstand for later. She cocked an eyebrow at the motion and he shrugged one muscled shoulder.

"Never be unprepared."

She chuckled. "Oh aye." She reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a little circular piece of plastic and popped the lid open.

"If you're clean, you don't need that," she said, setting her birth control pack down next to the condom. Dean managed to nod as she ran her hands up his chest and shoulders, practically massaging his pectorals, moving slowly up towards his neck.

Dean licked his lips as he surveyed her, his eyes burning with unchecked lust, his teeth practically itching with want to lick, taste, and gently bite every inch of her perfect tits. It was as he was diving in to do just that when he noticed brilliant colors on her skin. He paused in his movements and she nudged him backwards just a little before sprawling back onto the king sized bed, stretching her arms up over her head, pulling her body tight before slowly releasing. On either side of her rib cage were two different tattoos, both large and vibrantly colored; on the right a twisting ivy vine dappled with flowers of many different colors, ranging from blood red to pinkish orange, white, and bluish purple. On the other side was a tangled forest path, any distinction in the foliage and sprinkling of wild flowers difficult to discern, but the main focal point was the eight point stag watching off just to the side, his hide dappled by drawn in shafts of sunlight from a source not depicted.

"You like?" she asked, her voice husky and thick with her accent.

"Oh yeah," he growled and then dropped to his knees, taking a hold of her boots, and giving them a sharp, quick tug after undoing the top laces to loosen them. They slid off her legs and feet and he dropped them off to the side but she reached up and lightly smacked him in the back of the head.

"What?" he whined.

"Those are expensive. Handle with care." Her eyes flashed and he smirked up at her, pulling off her socks and then nuzzling the delicate bone of her right ankle. He'd just placed a butterfly kiss there and pulled back when he noticed more ink, this time a small phrase.

"Not all those who wander are lost," he murmured.

She nodded, smiling down at him with more sincerity than she'd had before. "I'm not a Tolkien groupie or anything. I just think it applies."

Dean smirked and arched up, prowling between her thighs before hovering over her torso, swooping in to steal a quick but still scorching kiss. "You don't have to tell me. I get it."

For whatever reason that seemed to renew her vigor. She arched up underneath him, planting her feet on the edge of the bed before reaching down to undo her belt before opening up her pants and wriggling out of them as fast as she could, letting them hit the floor with a dull thud. He sat up on his knees as he began to undo his own belt, intending to tease her a bit with anticipation, as he usually did with most girls, but that was when he saw that it wasn't just her torso that had become a canvas, her legs had as well.

On left thigh was a large wolf, stretched out in full stride, none of the four paws touching what would have been the ground, the slender muzzle and head arching up over her hip towards her lower belly, the bottle brush tail and tip of the hind feet stopping about halfway down her thigh. Hovering above the wolf's eyes in the shape of a crescent moon were two words in small black script that were difficult to make out, but underneath his scrutiny, Natasha brushed her fingers against it and looked up at him.

"Carpe omnia," she breathed.

"Seize it all," he translated, for once his Latin coming in handy at a time when he wasn't trying to send a demonic fiend back to hell.

At the moment she surged forward and wrapped her hand around the nape of his neck, yanking him down for a fierce kiss, desperate and wanton, her body heating up like a piece of torched metal in his hands. He groaned into her mouth, his head beginning to spin as her fingers raked down his chest and belly to grasp at his belt, undoing it with practiced easy, removing it from his belt loops with a snap of her wrist and shoving it to the side of the bed. Her fingers dug into the button and zipper, pulling both open in less than a second before her nails were scraping against the sensitive skin of his pelvis, making him gasp and jerk in her hands as she stole the rest of his clothes, leaving him completely naked and bare for her to see.

She purred deep in her throat, practically crooning as she gently arched up on her knees and let her hands rub against his shoulders and chest, nuzzling his collarbone and neck while one clever hand danced down his belly, playfully teasing his quivering skin with the very tips of her nails before curling around the base of his cock, not an ounce of hesitation in her touch. She kept her eyes fixed on him the entire time, smirking deeply, her ice blue eyes blazing like lit coals. He groaned at her touch, his head flopping back onto the pillows as he tried to steady himself.

The first stroke set his toes curling and his fingers twitching in the sheets. He took a deep breath to try and quiet himself down and relax, but the minute his features began to loosen she tightened her grip and gave her wrist a quick twist near the tip and a strangled moan escaped him. He could feel a full body flush heating his skin but he couldn't resist her. She purred above him, smiling down at him quietly as her hips just barely rocked up and down in time with her strokes.

"If you come here I can give you the full ride," he panted as she sped her strokes up a bit.

She chuckled a little and bent down to kiss him, never faltering on her rhythm. "Soon," she breathed against his lips before sliding down out of his reach and nuzzling the base of his laid up cock, drawing her tongue against the rock hard flesh languidly and he found himself groaning. This was not how he had envisioned the evening going, him practically begging and yet loving every moment of exquisite torture. This wasn't his style. This aching slowness that filled his flesh with a fire he was certain would never go out.

She cranked the temperature on that fire even higher when she slid her mouth around the throbbing, weeping head of his cock. His hands tightened into fists as his body strained for more of that delicious friction and heat, his hips bucking up as a groan left his mouth. She didn't pull off of him but she did push his hips back down and straddled his legs with her body, holding him down to the bed. He twitched against her hold but she pushed back ever harder and he got the message. Whatever she was going to do to him, he was going to have to lie there and take it.

"Girl you could kill me now, I wouldn't mind," he groaned as she bobbed her head. Lower, lower, lower until his eyes flew open and he caught sight of her nose brushing against his pelvis, his cock all the way down her throat. A wordless moan floated out of him as he struggled to hold still even as her tongue licked and traced all the way around his cock as she ever so slowly pulled up and off him.

"It's Natasha," she reminded him with a low growl in his ear, suddenly kissing him again and he swore he could taste himself on her tongue. It sent a bolt of lightening down his spine and he surged upwards and caught her by the back of her neck and clutched her close, unable to take her teasing anymore. He drug his fingertips down her shoulders and squeezed her full breasts tight, swiping his calloused thumbs over her nipples, twisting and pinching just enough to make her whine and thrash in his lap before dropping his mouth down to taste them with his tongue. She threw her head back with a gasp, her nails biting stinging lines into the back of his neck and scalp as she raked them through his hair. He smirked against her as he continued to assault her with teeth and tongue, loving the whimpers coming from her mouth.

"Dean Winchester I swear if you don't hurry up I may just kill you." She squeezed down on his shoulders as he tipped her backwards and he began to pepper the firm contours of her belly with his lips, causing her hips to buck up against him. His fingers twisted into the blue lace of her panties and quickly slid them down, mouthing at her hip bones, when he noticed another tattoo on her right leg, this time a garter belt with a large pistol tucked into the lace.

"Kinky," he teased, looking up at her, catching her ice blue eyes. Her pupils were blown so wide the color was just barely visible, pools of lust so deep there he was amazed he wasn't drowning on dry land right then. He held her eye contact even as he dropped his mouth lower and gave the distended pearl of her clit a single lick.

Her thighs tightened under his hands as her breath hitched with a choked gasp and as she reacted to his touch, so he reacted to her. She loved the way his eyes changed; the green coloring seemed to become more potent, flashing in the muted light of the room as the contours of his face tightened into a sneaky smirk that was filled with mirth and promise. He pressed his tongue down against her, shamelessly devouring her like she might be his last meal, and she arched up towards him, wrapping her hand around the back of his head, trying to pull him down harder onto her. He chuckled against her thigh, placing a love bite into the firm flesh, sinking in just shy of pain until she was practically squirming underneath him. He slid upwards and returned to his work, daring to probe her entrance with his tongue, the taste of her like a shot of top shelf tequila and lime, spicy, sweet, and floral all at the same time. She trembled at his touch and he dove in for a second taste, greedy for her flavor, holding onto her hips to hold her still as he attacked.

The first time she came for him that night was like a piñata busting open, the overstuffed toy spilling massive amounts of candy everywhere and he raced to collect them all. The feel of her spilling into his mouth, grinding forward for as much friction as she could get, it woke a primal animal in him and he was determined to chase down that sound, that feeling, that motion of her coming undone again and again. He set to work and drew another climax out of her, this time using his fingers to rub against her sweet spot, the one rough patch that he stimulated with feather light strokes, the callouses on his fingertips working to his advantage, all the while his lips and tongue sucked and rubbed against her clit until she warbled his name and pulled on his hair until it stung.

He was about to set to work with his mouth yet again, wanting to see if he could send her over the edge once more but her patience had run out. She twisted away and rolled over, rocking up onto all fours before looking back at him, her hair spilling down against her face and neck as her eyes flashed. Maybe if he'd had more discipline he could have resisted but he didn't have it in him. Not tonight, and not with her.

He rose up on his knees and came up behind her, mounting her with a single, swift, powerful stroke that sucked the breath from both their lungs. His head fell back for a second even as his hands canted up and down her flanks and back before one finally settled onto her shoulder and the other on her hip. When he looked back down he saw what he guessed was her last tattoo, and it was a thing of beauty. Two dragons, one made of fire, one of ice, locked in an aerial dual to the death, wings flared, fangs and talons exposed, one never seeming to get the upper hand over the other. He didn't know why but that sight sent the tension screaming through him so far that he pulled back and thrust anew, setting a hard rhythm with her that her rocking her hips back into his, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"God damn, Natasha," Dean growled, reaching with one hand to steady her at the hip even as he drove into her, sinking in as deep as he could go before pulling out to the tip and hammering home over and over again. Her thighs were trembling as they smacked against his even as her head tossed back and she stared at him over her shoulder with those ice blue eyes.

"Like that?" she growled, the words bitten off even as her head fell backwards and he dove in to kiss her mouth, never faltering in his rhythm. She tasted like fire and ice, stinging and burning him all at once. He let her go to catch his breath but growled in her ear as he folded over her, his belly pressing down against her back while his free hand wrapped underneath her, his fingers now drumming against her clit even as he continued to cant his hips into her, gnawing the back of her neck with his teeth. Hearing her words, so low and grating with desire, it made him growl deep in his chest, that primal animal in him waking up even more.

"You tell me." His voice hit a deep baritone in her ear that sent shockwaves down her spine and at his command she upped the ante and doubled her pace against him, fucking him back at a rate he'd never experienced in this position before. She moaned hard, fisting her fingers into the sheets underneath her, her back arching up as she raced for her peak.

"Don't stop," she panted, her voice going high and breathless, her head arching back so their cheeks were pressed together.

He could feel the way she clenched around him, yanking the air straight out of his lungs, winding him like a kick to the stomach as her hips stuttered to a halt and she thrashed underneath him, whimpering with the overload of sensation as pleasure sparked and erupted into flames over every inch of her body. Dean rocked his hips against her, eager to hit the gas again but she whined and shook her head, gasping for air.

"Give me a minute," she whispered, hardly able to breathe. "Good God, Dean." She twisted her head and kissed him again, this time slower, deeper, and more fulfilling. He tasted like whiskey, like rye and open country roads, cheap beer and old rock and roll, grit and sweat and heat. It made her heart ache in ways she didn't understand but she clung onto him as hard as she could.

"I gotcha," he rumbled, steady and confident behind her. Palming her hip, he encouraged her to lie down on her side, never letting his cock leave her center as they stretched out together. He nuzzled the back of her neck, stroking his hand over her shoulders, sweeping down her breasts, squeezing the firm mounds softly before skimming over her belly before finally brushing against her clit once more. She groaned at the sensation as he began to rock his hips gently, rolling his cock back and forth through the tight, slick heat of her body. She sighed in pleasure at the feeling of fullness and slow, heady pleasure crawling through her veins, slowly marching from her core all the way to the tips of her fingers and roots of her hair. Every roll of Dean's hips had her toes curling as the head of his cock scraped against her sweet spot, making her nerves fire like a hammer hitting molten steel to shape its form. Eventually she began to rock her body back into his, the curve of her ass fitting perfectly into the cradle of his hips. She could feel the muscles of his chest pressing and releasing against her back with every breath.

She rolled over without missing a beat and settled on top of him, pressing belly to belly with him now, enveloping him with her long limbs and the silk of her hair. The scent of her, ice and crushed desert flowers, washed over Dean and turned his head foggy even as he kept that slow, steady rhythm with her, his hands cupping her hips, tracing over her ass and back, holding onto her, pulling her down to meet him for another mind melting kiss.

She arched up on him, bracing herself aloft with her hands on his chest, seizing control of the rhythm of their combined thrusts right out of his hands. She began to move her hips in a circular motion as she sank fully onto his cock, so far down that he could feel the heat and moisture of her pussy grinding into his pelvis. He tossed his head back, baring his throat to her, which she couldn't resist taking between her teeth as she kept up that steady motion. She pulled back within seconds to catch a breath, gasping for air, the motion of her hips speeding up as her nails curled with tiny pinpricks of pain into his chest. She released his throat and sat back up, working her lower body into overdrive, pleasure etched onto her face, her sharp white teeth nibbling at her lower lip.

"Havin' fun up there?" Dean asked, a cheeky smirk etched onto his face as he watched her work herself into desperation above him.

She moaned in response, her head falling back as she reached a hand down to rub her clit between two fingers, sucking in a sharp breath as the pleasure bolted through her much stronger than she had anticipated. Hell if she knew what it was, but damn he could make her feel things she hadn't ever thought possible. Her moans turned high and hot with desperation and Dean could feel her squeezing around him and he let her do as she pleased. When she came again she shuddered with a high pitched yelp, leaning back against his raised knees, the release of her pleasure loosening her body and somehow he sank even deeper. The rush of her squeezing heat tipped some sort of invisible scale and now Dean could no longer hold back. He turned the two of them over and settled between her knees, kissing her mouth fiercely as he hammered his hips into hers, running down his own orgasm with rabid abandon.

"Fuck, Dean, don't stop!" Natasha tossed her head back, her jaw clenching hard as her hands came up to cup against the nape of his neck and then his back.

"You gonna come for me again sweetheart?" Dean growled, mouthing love bites against her neck and the edge of her jaw. He knew he couldn't hold back much longer, she was too intense, too desperate, needed him too much, hell, he needed this too much. She matched him move for move, word for word, growl for growl. Damn he hadn't had a woman like this in so long he couldn't remember, but all that was wiped away when she nodded desperately, the color of her eyes like lightening bolts in their passion.

"Yes, God, please!" she begged.

He put the pedal to the floor and went all out, instinctively about to bite his lip to back himself down from his impending implosion but right then her nails sank deep into his shoulder blades and back and raked hard, causing lines of stinging pain to hit him, but even that wasn't going to hold him off for very long. He reached between them to where they were joined and rubbed against her clit, determined to send her into orbit yet again.

"Come for me again, let me feel it," Dean encouraged, his voice reaching the deepest bass note yet of the evening.

That did it for her. The touch of his hand, the feeling of his cock hammering her so deep and so fast, the heat of his breath right in her ear, that wild, untamed smell of him filling her lungs. Her pussy all but strangled his cock and she literally howled, her head arching back as her nails dug in deep once more, but the pain edged pleasure was what sent Dean rocketing over the edge, barreling through a release that felt like taking a fifty caliber slug straight to the chest in the best way possible. Pleasure banged against his skull, rattling all his bones and sending trembles through his muscles as he ground down as deep as he could into her, gasping desperately, stuttered groans escaping from between his teeth. He struggled for air as he tried to remember his own damn name as the spasms of pleasure continued rocking through him.

Her knees came up to grip his ribs, her ankles crossing and resting her heels into the small of his back as she rocked her hips back into his a few times, drawing out the last deep strokes of pleasure. Aftershocks raced through Dean's frame, making their next kiss short and breathless as he tried not to pass out.

"That was amazing," he admitted, kissing her cheek and neck softly. She purred deep in her throat and unwound her legs around his back and relaxed underneath him.

She nodded in agreement and was reluctant to let him slip away but he didn't go far. He towed her into his side and she nuzzled his chest and neck, feeling his arm underneath her, cupping her shoulders to keep her close.

"Yeah, yeah it was," she agreed, tracing her fingers lazily over the pentagram tattoo on his chest. Noticing the motions of her fingers, he danced his own down to her ribs, stroking over the image of the stag hidden in the woods.

"I don't think I've ever been with someone with this much ink," he commented.

She quirked her mouth up into a slight smirk. "Oh? Didn't think you'd ever like my type hm?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her with an expression of amusement. "I wouldn't say I have a type to be honest."

"Other than that they don't cling, right?" she asked. She sat up and rearranged her hair to push it out of her face as she looked down at him.

"It's not like that," he muttered, slowly sitting up as well.

He watched as she sauntered off the bed, her hips swaying with what he thought was quite purposefully an exaggerated motion as she went to the small fridge in the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of what he recognized was cheap sangria.

"No whiskey?" he asked.

"Wasn't going to spend the money on a bottle of the good stuff when I wouldn't be here long enough to finish it. Blowing town tomorrow morning." She brought two glasses with her and poured them both a generous amount. Dean winced a bit at the sweetness of the wine but didn't complain. He'd never turn down a little buzz during the afterglow.

"Yeah, my brother and I too," he agreed with a nod. "Where you headed after this?"

She gave him a dark little smile over the rim of her glass as she took another sip of wine. "Ya plannin' on following me?"

Dean cocked his head to the side with a teasing smile. "Oh maybe. I'm not sure how long I could go without an ass like that." To prove his point he gave said ass a playful smack, causing her to bark with laughter and wiggle her body. She rose up on her knees to set her now empty glass of wine down and Dean took the opportunity to trace his hand down the wolf on her thigh.

"What do they all mean?" he asked as he drained his own glass in two large mouthfuls and set it down on the floor.

She laid out on her back like an all you can eat buffet and arched her back, stretching luxuriously, like a barn cat arching its back in the lazy morning sunshine. At last she relaxed with a contented smile on her face and looked up at him where he was watching her with marked interest from his propped up position on the pillows.

"They're all very personal," she said. "Normally I don't feel the need to explain myself."

He cocked an eyebrow down at her. "Ok miss mysterious, if that's the way you want it."

She lifted her left leg and pressed her foot into the center of his chest and now he saw the last tattoo he had previously missed. Just above her ankle and reaching up to twine around her calf, a small fox running through tall grass waving in the wind, and underneath the greenery in small, cursive font was the words _'who chooseth me must give and hazard all he has_.'

"I'll tell you about that one," she decided. She sat up, extending her leg over his lap, bending down to trace the ink with her fingertips, offering Dean another glimpse of her back before she looked up at him under the curtain of her hair. "The line is from my favorite play, _The Merchant of Venice, _by Shakespeare. The potential husband of the heroine, Portia, has to solve a riddle in order to win her hand in marriage, which includes so much wealth she could probably buy the state of Venice if she felt like it. The line describes what sort of man is worthy of Portia's love, because she's not just rich, but she's smart, probably the most intelligent of all of Shakespeare's heroines. And the fox reminds me of her; very clever and just a little bit tricky but can still be loyal to those who earn it."

"And that's how you feel about love?" Dean asked. "Someone's gotta put it all out on the line to be with you?"

She nodded. "Which is such a shame because I'm never around long enough for someone to prove that they would. Oh the irony of it all." Despite that, she still smiled up at him and crawled into his lap to kiss him gently, licking the flavor of the wine off his lips greedily.

"What about you?" she asked, softly combing her fingers through his hair.

"Eh, you could say I'm a workaholic." He rolled one shoulder uncomfortably and she gently pressed her forehead against his.

"I understand," she murmured. "You do things other people don't do. Are too afraid to do."

He looked up at her, the barest trace of suspicion in his eyes even as curiosity bloomed in his chest. "How would you know?"

She crooned softly in her throat, brushing her jaw lightly against his. "Because I'm the same."

He gently took hold of her shoulders and pulled her away so he could look into her face fully. His brow furrowed as he studied her and it was then that he realized what he had missed in their frenzied passion.

Just as he was putting it together, she took his hand and traced it over the ink on the right side of her ribs; between the bone meant to protect and layer of ink meant to hide, he felt it; the ridge of a scar. He brushed his fingers even lower and felt another, following the curve of one of the ivy tendrils, this one longer and deeper. His hand dropped to her thigh and hidden in the thickness of the wolf's pelt, he felt another ridge. Now he brushed his fingertips over her back and felt with a rush of horror that there were at least a dozen scars, some small and some quite large all over her back. He looked up into her eyes, feeling a rush of concern and worry for her that he typically associated much more with Sammy and his ill-fated damsels in distress than himself.

"Natasha, what happened to you?"

She shook her head, the barest hints of a smile tracing over her lips. "Tonight's been amazing, Dean. Don't ruin it now."

"If that's the way you want it." Something in his tone said that wasn't the way he wanted it, but he'd back off because he knew. He knew what it was like to not want to rip open old wounds that had healed enough so that they at least weren't bleeding anymore.

She nodded and kissed him deeply, stroking her hands over his cheeks and hair and he quickly enveloped her in his arms, determined to lose himself in her for as long as he could. They tumbled through the sheets, rolling over and over each other, refusing to come up for air until they were both sweating and gasping, muscles trembling, bodies aching, and still, just an hour or so before sunrise, she was pushing him for more.

"One more time," she begged him, clutching the nape of his neck as he bore down on her with everything he had left in him. His hips churned like the pistons of the Impala going ninety five down a burning stretch of highway and she met him thrust for thrust, her head tossing back hard as she reached once more for that blistering peak. Her body was so worn through every touch was filled with both pleasure and pain but that was the way she liked it best, but she'd never been with someone who could last that long. Not until now.

They hit their final peak together, the air itself seeming to ignite as they both shattered into each other's arms, Dean's teeth sinking deep into her throat, just shy of drawing blood but she wasn't as careful and she raked her nails down his spine and flanks, creating stinging red lines in her wake. She all but screamed as she rode the sparking, white-hot rails of her orgasm, feeling Dean shaking and quivering deep inside, pulsing with the last tenors of his pleasure. He collapsed against her and was probably unconscious before he hit the pillows even as he weakly tried to reach for her before his eyes fluttered closed. She fitted herself as close to him as possible and stayed there for as long as she could.

The sun had been over the horizon for about two and a half hours when she woke. The amount of reluctance she felt at getting up was almost enough to make her stay, but she knew better. She couldn't stay here, no matter how much she wanted to.

She got dressed and did a once over of her room, making sure she was leaving nothing else behind except the man in her bed. She buckled on her boots and stood over the edge of the mattress, looking at him with a small smile on her face. She knew almost instinctively that Dean Winchester was not a man who ever let himself be seen as vulnerable or off his guard, and so to see him sleeping so peacefully like this, it felt special to her, and so she committed it to memory. She reached for a piece of the motel stationary and left him a note underneath the empty bottle of wine on the table before picking up her bag and walking out the door, shutting it very softly.

Even though the snarl of the Harley pulling out of the parking lot didn't wake him, Dean had long since trained his brain to be in tuned with his phone's ringer and so when his phone began to buzz and ring he jerked awake, blearily groping along the edge of the bed, searching for his jeans and the pocket where his phone was.

"Yeah?" he rasped, his throat dry from sleep and almost all night use. He put his hand up in front of his face as he tried to shield his eyes from the blistering morning sun as he crawled backwards fully onto the bed.

"Dean, you ever coming back? Check out is in an hour, we gotta roll."

"Always so chipper in the morning aren't ya Sammy? I'll be there in about fifteen minutes." He hung up the phone and set it aside and sprawled back into the blankets, rubbing his face into the sheets, inhaling as much the lingering smell of his bedfellow's skin as he could.

"Natasha?" he called after a while, thinking that her absence was maybe due to her being in the bathroom, but when no voice answered him he felt that gnawing, nagging sensation that was a bit too close to defeat for him to be comfortable with.

He sat up and quickly dressed, taking only a small amount of time scour the room to find that not only was Natasha gone, all of her stuff was too. He scooped up his phone and stuffed it into his pocket, about to leave, when he saw the piece of paper underneath the wine bottle on the table.

_I won't kiss and tell. _

He picked up the note and folded it and stuffed it into his pocket before grabbing his wallet and keys and leaving the room. He slipped away without being noticed by the clerk and hurried to the Impala, meeting up with Sammy just ten minutes later who was already waiting for him with all of their belongings. He helped Sam load it into the trunk and then piled into the driver's seat, Sam swinging into the passenger side.

"She must have been something else, you were gone all night," Sam noted as they headed for the highway, kicking up the engine to sixty five as soon as he was clear of the town's speed limit signs.

"God man, you shoulda seen this girl," Dean remarked, leaning his head back against the seat. "I may need you to drive later on. She gave me a helluva workout."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure she did," he muttered, practically squirming in his seat- his way of saying he was uncomfortable with the way Dean oozed confident sexuality. "What was her name?"

"Natasha," he murmured softly, remembering the way he'd echoed it in her ear somewhere around two or three in the morning when they were both gasping and clawing at each other in wild throws of desperation.

"Seems like you liked this one a little bit more than usual. Did you just ditch her without saying goodbye?"

Dean cut a sharp look towards his little brother. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno, Dean, except maybe that have you ever thought so many one-night stands aren't a good idea?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, like I can just get a regular girlfriend, Sam, come on, we've talked about this. This life we live, what we do, hunting, we can't drag some girl into the mix. You know that. So don't go getting all cranky at me just because you're Mr. Awkward and can't get any."

Sam opened his mouth to retort but then closed it, taking a sharper look at his brother, noting the tension in his fingertips, the tightness of his lips and the narrow shape of his eyes. He let out a soft breath and leaned further against the car door and smirked just a bit.

"She left you, didn't she?"

Dean glared at him out of the side of his eye, refusing to look Sam full in the face, concentrating on the stretch of roadway in front of them.

"She did, didn't she? Ooh, bet that had to hurt." Sam kept his expression mostly neutral but continued speaking. "Well, first time for everything I guess."

"You know what, Sam, the morning drive would be just as good without your peanut gallery commentary."

Sam brushed his brother's harshness away. "Relax, Dean. I mean you said it yourself, we can't go dragging some innocent girl into this life." He looked his brother over again, softening his expression more this time until Dean also relaxed. "But now do you get why I don't go chasing girls the way you do?"

"Sammy, you fall in love with practically every damsel in distress we meet, of course you don't get the game I do, your little sensitive heart couldn't take it." His brother's expression tightened into relentless sarcasm and Sam rolled his eyes.

"I do not," Sam argued back.

"Sure, whatever lover boy," Dean teased. He flicked on the radio to fill the silence between the two of them and hummed along contentedly through the myriad of classic rock tunes that came through the speakers but paused when he recognized that opening acoustic melody that melted into honeyed words tinged in desperation.

"There's nothing left to do tonight but go crazy on you," he sang, ignoring Sam's pointed look of surprise.

"Lemme go crazy, crazy on you."


End file.
